Four years.
Four long years had passed since I first opened my eyes in this world.trapped in the body of a child, reborn with memories far too heavy for such small shoulders.
I had been reborn as
CaelumMorningstar . the first son of House Morningstar, a noble family cloaked in power and lineage so vast it coiled through the veins of this continent like a sleeping beast.
At first, it had been nothing but confusion. Endless days of pretending. Of crying when expected. Of smiling on cue. Of hiding the weight in my gaze behind childish curiosity.
But now, at six years old, I had learned to walk again. To speak fluently. To navigate the polished halls of this mansion like they were a stage, and I, an actor. I was still small. Still a child in flesh. But my mind, my soul had never once returned to innocence.
The estate of the Morningstars was no mere household. It was a fortress of elegance and martial discipline. A sprawling citadel nestled atop the hills of Caervan, overlooking the twin rivers that carved through the heart of the Empire.
High towers crowned with crimson-tiled roofs reached skyward like spears. Courtyards dotted with obsidian statues of long-dead ancestors lined the inner sanctums. Marble walkways laced with runic veins shimmered faintly in moonlight. And at night, when the torches lining the walls ignited with whispered incantations, the entire estate looked less like a home and more like a shrine to power.
Servants bowed as I passed. Knights nodded, their gazes measured. Maids whispered behind silken gloves.
They all knew who I was. Or rather, what I represented.
I was the first heir of LordJulien Morningstar the man they called the Umbral Warden. A shadow-walker. A master of Dark Magic whose name alone sent tremors through battlefields and courtrooms alike. His command over the abyss had earned him many enemies and even more terrified admirers.
To the world, he was a monster. A merciless tactician whose enemies disappeared beneath veils of living shadow. The terror beneath the banners of House Morningstar.
But to us, to his family, he was different.
He was our shield. Our guardian. Stern to the bone, yes. Disciplined and unbending. But also watchful in ways only those closest to him could understand. His love did not come in words or warm embraces. It came in silence. In the quiet way his hand would rest on my shoulder after training. In the way his presence filled the hall outside my bedchamber at night when storms raged. In the rare moments our eyes met and I saw it—the faint flicker of pride.
He did not smile often. But when he did, it felt like the shifting of mountains.
My mother, Elira Morningstar, was his opposite and his match. She was light to his shadow. Grace to his severity. Yet beneath her beauty and boundless affection was a will no less indomitable. There was a reason she stood beside the Umbral Warden as his equal. She was not only my warmth. She was my anchor.
Together, they were my beginning. And though they rarely voiced it, their support wrapped around me like invisible armor.
Even now, as I sat beneath the canopy of the training garden, the stone bench cool beneath my fingers, I found no joy in the toys or games brought by servants. Instead, my eyes wandered to the knights sparring beyond the courtyard wall. To the way their blades danced. To the flow of aura that sparked along steel.
I could feel it. That strange pull in my chest whenever I saw it. A whisper in the marrow of my bones. A breath beneath my skin.
Magic. Aura. Whatever force flowed through this world, it called to me like a memory I hadn't lived.
"Young Master Caelum."
I turned my head slowly. A woman stood at the edge of the garden. Not a servant. Older. Wiser. Dressed in layered robes that shimmered faintly with enchantment.
"Madame Lysra," I said, my voice calm and practiced. Not stiff. Not cold. But not playful either.
She was one of my tutors. A mage who had once served on the Imperial Conclave. Now reduced to overseeing noble brats and reciting histories of the Arcane Courts.
"It is time for your theory lesson."
I nodded. "The history of Mana Conductivity through bloodlines, yes?"
Her eyebrow twitched. "Indeed."
I followed her through the eastern halls, past stained-glass murals of wars long ended, of dragons curled around towers, of men crowned in starlight. The world outside had begun to change. Autumn crept through the trees, painting the garden edges in hues of crimson and gold.
And all the while, something within me kept stirring.
It wasn't just memory. It wasn't just power.
Something had changed in my personality. I could feel it deep within my core. It was not a sudden transformation, not a violent shift, but a gradual evolution that I could not quite stop or understand.
I do not know how or who did it. But something inside me had shifted.
I have become more cold. Or perhaps the better word is distant. More emotionally restrained. I am not completely devoid of emotion. I still feel, still experience the echoes of joy and pain. But the intensity has dulled. The fire that once raged in my heart burns lower, more controlled.
Is this the result of merging with the soul of this body? Are the traits of the original Caelum Morningstar beginning to intertwine with my own? His pride, his arrogance, his composure—they seep into me slowly, like ink into parchment.
The Morningstars, as I observe them, are creatures of immense pride. They are regal, composed, and shrouded in a silent arrogance that borders on divine. And yet, they have the strength to justify it. A mystery cloaks them, and it is not one of smoke and mirrors but of tangible, terrifying power. The type of people I used to despise.
But now, I see fragments of that very nature within myself. The way I speak. The way I walk. The way I respond to others. It is changing.
The transformation is not abrupt. It is slow. Insidious. Each day, I wake and notice something new. A thought pattern that was not mine. A reaction that feels foreign. A tone in my voice that mimics my father's severity or my mother's noble calm.
And the most unsettling part? I cannot stop it.
It is not as though I have lost who I was. But I am becoming someone else too.
A blend of two selves.
And perhaps, in time, something altogether new.
I do not yet know if that is a blessing.
Or a curse.
Even as I returned to the training hall later that day, watching the knight instructor demonstrate proper stances to the young squires, my thoughts wandered. The subtle shifts in my mind were not something I could simply ignore. It felt like I was walking through someone else's dream. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to reject it.
At night, I stared at the ceiling from my bed of velvet and feather down, feeling the silence stretch like a second skin around me. My fingers would twitch beneath the covers, yearning for the grip of a blade, even though I had never truly wielded one in this life.
Was it memory? Instinct? Or something deeper?
One day soon, I knew, I would step onto that training ground myself. I would grasp a sword not as a child, but as a Morningstar.
And when I did, the world would begin to change.
***
"Today," Madame Lysra began, leading me into a private study bathed in golden runelight, "we speak of resonance."
The chamber was layered with arcane diagrams etched into obsidian slates. Shelves lined with grimoires and ancestral scrolls stood in perfectly organized columns. A great chandelier pulsed with floating crystals, humming softly in response to the flow of mana in the room.
"Resonance is the bond between your blood and the world's flow of energy," she said. "It determines not only your capacity for magic but how magic listens to you."
She waved her hand, and a runic circle shimmered between us. Images flickered to life within it—a man drawing flame from the air, a beast covered in elemental light, a battlefield split by lightning from a lone sorcerer's palm.
"Your lineage, young master, grants you an affinity rare and dreadful," she continued. "Dark Ether. Shadow Magic. What some call Umbramancy. It is more than just art. It is weight. Memory. Depth."
She studied me carefully. "And it listens to willpower more than talent."
I said nothing. I was listening.
"But bloodlines come with consequences. You carry the weight of a legacy—and the world will expect you to bear it."
A faint flicker of energy rippled across her fingertips. She snapped them, and the room dimmed. Only her voice remained, resonating in the pulse of the arcane.
"You are no ordinary child,Young Master. When This World will learn your name. The question is: how do you want it spoken? In awe? Or in fear?"
The lesson had begun.
And deep within, I felt Certain Excitement.
**********
A/N :-
We are only at the beginning of Caelum's tale, but every beginning sets the tone for what's to come. 🌑📖
If the world has drawn your attention, consider dropping a Power Stone 💠. It fuels the journey ahead and helps shape what's next.
For any thoughts, theories, or corrections, the comment section is open 💬. Let's build this story together.
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Thank you for being here.
— GLOOMRAY